


We Looked Like Giants

by avoidingavoidance



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:39:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidingavoidance/pseuds/avoidingavoidance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Distance makes the heart grow fonder (or some shit), and Jean's not about to let five hours of winding mountain highway keep him from seeing his best friend. Even if he does have some awkward new feelings to deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Looked Like Giants

**Author's Note:**

> [i have a tumblr](http://avoidingavoidance.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> this is my formal apology for chapter 8 of ghost story

They had expected the distance to affect their relationship. Hell, Marco had thought Jean would abandon him entirely. 

Jean went to a college five hours away from Marco, who went to the Ivy League state college in the middle of Nowheresville, Bumblefuck, USA. He was aimed for the stars, Marco was. Jean just wanted something to do while he figured himself out. 

They Skype each other every night. It’s like before, like when they were inseparable in high school, staying up late and doing homework and shooting the shit. It’s just like before, when they start getting sleepy and their voices get husky and the pauses between them drag on just a second too long.

It’s just like before, except Jean doesn’t get to see Marco’s face at his door with some form of breakfast a few hours later. He doesn’t get to fling notes at him from across the classroom. They don’t get coffee after school, nudging each other with their elbows, laughing a little too loudly at each other’s jokes.

They had expected the distance to affect them, but not with quite the sting that Jean is feeling.

\--

“I miss you,” Marco mumbles into a pillow, sprawled on his stomach across the sheets, his glasses sliding down his nose. His eyes are sleepy, drifting in and out of consciousness, and Jean wants to reach out and ruffle his hair the way they did in high school. Five hours has never felt so far before, so unreachable. He bounces his leg agitatedly, just to be moving.

“I miss you too,” he says. Something in him gives a little tug. He sniffs, trying to play it off, leaning back in his computer chair. The plastic squeaks loudly in his tiny single dorm. “Go to sleep, man.” Marco nuzzles into his pillow, eyes drifting shut. His shoulders flex into the light from the computer. Jean squints and leans forward. “Are you… is that my jersey?”

Marco’s eyes snap open, and he tenses up for a second before looking bashful. The low quality of the webcam image just barely picks up his faint blush. “Yeah, I think it got mixed in with my stuff… sorry, Jean.”

Jean stares longer, harder, his mouth a little dry. He can’t think of anything to say, except a choked, “Oh.”

“Yeah, plus it’s laundry day tomorrow… it’s not like I wear it every night or anything.”

Jean’s honestly disappointed. He shakes it off. “It’s whatever, it’s not like I need it here.”

“I guess,” Marco laughs, pulling off his glasses. He rubs at his tired eyes. Jean watches the loose fabric of the old football jersey slide off Marco’s shoulder just a little, and he’s suddenly acutely aware of the millions of freckles on his tan shoulders. The blonde clears his throat and looks away.

“I’m goin’ to bed. Talk tomorrow?”

“Sure.” Marco hesitates, chewing on the end of his glasses. He smiles then, wide and sleepy, glasses hanging out of his mouth. “Night, Jean.”

“N-night.”

If Jean lies awake in the cold darkness of his room for the next few hours, thinking about the wrinkles at the corners of Marco’s eyes, he’s sure not about to tell anyone.

\--

“I made a lot of friends up here,” Marco says happily, his room bright around him. Jean grunts, legs crossed under him in his chair, doodling on his calculus homework. “They’re having a party on Wednesday night. I think I might go.”

“Have fun,” Jean says, maybe just a little grumpy. Friends. What are those again? All he’s got are Eren, Mikasa, and Armin, and only Armin has classes with him.

“Do you have classes on Thursdays?” Marco muses quietly, chewing his nails. A bad habit. 

“Yeah, calc at eight AM,” Jean replies, raking his fingers through his hair. The movement dislodges one of his earbuds. 

“Gross,” Marco replies into Jean’s left ear. He smooshes the other headphone back where it belongs. “I was gonna invite you to come. I know it’s a long drive, but…”

Jean leans back in his chair. It creaks angrily. “What time is it?”

Marco can’t help but look a little excited. He perks up, then leans back over his laptop. Jean scratches his cheek in an attempt to force the flush back out of it. “It starts at 9. If you left after dinner, you could probably make it…”

With a sigh, Jean stretches his arms above his head. May as well. It’s not like he’s gonna get anything done in class that early anyway. “Text me the address. I’ll be there.”

The huge smile that spreads warmly over Marco’s cheeks makes Jean’s heart slam against his ribs. “Thanks, Jean. I’m really excited.”

“Yeah,” he grunts in response, flipping his pen between his fingers idly. His heart rate picks up more than he’s willing to admit, and his stomach ties itself into knots. Marco’s biting his lip, still with that stupid beautiful grin on his face. Jean takes a moment to breathe deeply. “Hey, listen, I gotta write a paper. Can I call you later?”

“Sure. See you, Jean.”

“See you.”

Skype makes some weird bubbling sound as Jean disconnects and signs off. 

He doesn’t write his paper.

\--

_Me: headin out see u in forty days and forty nights_  
 _Marco: You don’t have to come if it’s annoying, Jean!_  
 _Me: ur a knucklehead_  
 _Marco: Whatever, butthead._  
 _Me: u r also a kindergartener_  
 _Marco: Argh! Just drive safe, okay?_  
 _Me: ill think about it_

Jean can almost hear the whine his friend would let out as he starts his car, a smirk on his face. The engine rolls over a few times, cranky in the chilly air, before it catches.

Driving through the mountains on thin, winding, empty roads for five hours is nerve-wracking, but Jean has a few Monsters, his beat-up iPod, and the annoying press of his imagination to keep him company.

\--

It’s only ten-thirty when Jean rolls up and parks in the lot in front of the apartment building where this party is, theoretically.

It’s also not hard to spot Marco.

Jean leans out of his car and pulls his hoodie tighter around himself, his breath foggy in the cool mountain air. He slams the door and walks briskly up behind his friend, who’s standing outside next to a familiar pair of people, joking loudly.

Sasha’s and Connie’s faces light up, their gazes trained behind Marco, who looks confused for a second until he spins around. He loses his balance, falling into Jean, but by then it would seem that he’d meant the movement entirely, because he’s laughing and hugging Jean closely and leaning all of his weight into the blonde.

Jean can manage Marco, but Sasha and Connie jumping on him as well might be a little too much. He grunts and flicks Connie’s nose until he backs off, pulling Sasha with him. Marco’s smiling widely up at Jean, not bothering to stand on his own two feet. “Hi,” he says, his breath sweet and mildly alcoholic.

“Did you get him drunk already?” Jean blinks up at Sasha and Connie, who whistle badly for a moment. He stares. They laugh riotously and pile back into the apartment building, singing some bastardization of ‘Sonny Boy.’

“I’m not drunk,” Marco asserts, finally standing on his own. Jean kind of misses his weight against his chest. “I’m just happy to see you.”

Jean looks up at Marco, just a scant few inches, then smiles softly. “You too, goober.”

“Let’s go inside, then!”

Marco grabs Jean’s hand and pulls him along, gabbing loudly about the people he’s about to be forced upon, and school, and whatever else, but Jean can only focus on how soft Marco’s hand feels in his.

\--

Jean has a rousing tower of red Solo cups going before someone slams into the table and knocks over his masterpiece. He tries to shove whoever it is, but Reiner just stands immobile and laughs his huge, booming laugh. It’s infectious, and Jean can’t help but join in, leaning helpless against the giant. 

He can see how Marco could be enjoying himself here, with these people. Reiner loops a buff arm around Jean, crushing him to his chest. “You’re okay, Jean,” he yells into Jean’s face.

“Thanks,” Jean manages, trying not to let his rib cage crumple under the force of this hellish bear-hug.

“I thought you had a stick up your ass at first,” Reiner booms over Jean’s sputtered protest, “But you’re not bad!”

Jean extricates himself from Reiner before he starts losing consciousness, patting him on the huge shoulder. He starts looking around for Marco again, just out of habit, and Reiner’s on him again.

“If you’re looking for your boyfriend,” Reiner whisper-hollers into his ear, “I think he was about to get his mack on with my roommate.”

Jean peers up at Reiner, confused on many counts. The giant blonde just points in the direction of the bedroom. Its door is closed over, but nothing hanging on the handle indicates any foul play. 

Reiner’s words echo around Jean’s skull for a while, swimming desperately in the sea of beer drowning reasonable thoughts. Instead of interrupting whatever’s happening in there, Jean turns and leaves the apartment.

There’s a girl outside smoking. Jean thinks he saw her inside. Ann, Annie, something? He walks up to her, peering down at her as she pointedly ignores his presence. He’s trying to wait for her to notice him, so he can awkwardly bum a cigarette, but he’s not sure how to broach the subject and she’s still pretending he doesn’t exist. After another endless moment of this, she sighs and hands him her pack.

“O-oh,” he manages, pulling out a cigarette and her lighter. 

He’s not sure why he does it, but he leans against the wall next to her, and as he smokes her gross, too-strong cigarette and regrets every pull he breathes in, he unloads on her. She doesn’t respond, but when she drops her cigarette and grinds it out under her heel, she doesn’t leave, either. She just shoves her hands in her hoodie pocket and stares moodily over the parking lot. Jean gets it all off his chest, ending with a rushed, “—and now he’s probably upstairs making sweet love to that Turtle guy and I never got the chance to tell him I love him.”

Jean exhales slowly, shakily, wondering just how much he should not have dumped a hot bucket of raw feels all over this girl he doesn’t know, when she turns to him and stares.

“Wh-what?” Jean drops his cigarette and grinds it out, stuffing his hands nervously in his pockets.

“Looks like you’ll get the opportunity,” she says simply, striding past him. He watches her go, and as she does, he finally notices that Marco’s standing there, without a hoodie, eyes wide.

“Aw, fuck,” Jean mumbles, running a hand down his face. It smells like Annie’s heavy tobacco.

“J-Jean,” Marco starts, twiddling his fingers in front of him. 

“I’m sorry, Marco,” Jean cuts in, turning to face Marco, looking everywhere but at him. “I’m happy for you, I am. He seems nice, and you deserve someone close to you.” Jean’s babbling now, trying not to sound as panicky as he is, but he really just wants to get in his car and drive the five hours home, tipsy or not.

“Jean,” Marco tries again, a little more insistently.

“I mean, I don’t know how much you heard, but you can pretend you didn’t hear anything and I’ll be fine with that. You just gotta promise you’ll still text me sometimes and maybe Skype me every now and then, but since you have a boyfriend I’ll understand if he takes priority—”

“Jean, Jesus Christ, will you _please_ shut up for one second?”

He does. He refuses to look at Marco, though, just at the ground between them.

Marco moves forward, leaving less than a foot of space between them. Jean has to fight the urge to step back. He just stares at Marco’s shoes. They’re silent for a moment longer, before Marco murmurs, “I lied.”

“Huh?” Jean chances a look up at Marco, whose face is bright red. 

“I lied,” he repeats, crossing his arms against the cold. “I wear your jersey every night. When it stopped smelling like you, I almost cried, but at least it still has your name on it. But then the ‘I’ peeled off, so it just says ‘Kirschsten,’ and I almost cried then too.”

Jean stares at his shivering friend as he speaks faster and faster, tripping over his words and flushing darker. 

“And it didn’t get ‘mixed up’ in my stuff, I straight up stole it the day I came over to tell you I got into State and you told me you were going to school five hours away. When you got up to go to the bathroom, I dug into your closet and stuffed your jersey in my backpack and I haven’t regretted it once except for the times I think it might have been a little creepy of me.”

“M-Marco…”

“So don’t tell me you’re happy for me, okay? I’m not with Bert, we were just talking. I’m pretty sure he’s with Annie, anyway.”

Jean blinks, then grimaces. Would it have killed her to say something? “So, wait,” he starts, but he’s not really sure where to go with that.

Marco sighs, exasperated, and licks his lips nervously. “I mean, I guess I’m saying thatIloveyoutoo,” he sputters quickly, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself as if expected a blow.

Before Jean has time to think about moving, he’s kissing Marco, pressed awkwardly against his crossed arms and perhaps aiming a tad lower than he’d meant.

The brunette, although shocked for a second, is quick to pick up Jean’s slack. He wraps his arms around him, holding him tight, and he moves so that they’re kissing properly. Jean’s head is spinning. It could be the alcohol, could be Marco’s cold face against his own, could be his warm lips pressed so perfectly against his, but Jean can’t even hope to think straight. 

By the time they move together to kiss deeper, harder, their tongues tangling around warm, panting breaths, Jean’s going crazy. Marco tastes sweet, so sweet, so awesome compared to his own beer and tobacco taste. He wonders for a second how Marco can tolerate him. He just tangles his fingers in Marco’s hair and pulls him closer, leaning up just a bit onto his toes to get that much closer. Marco’s laugh against his lips is intoxicating. The soft, musical sound sends his mind whirling impossibly faster.

He’s already pulling Marco toward his car, near the dark back of the parking lot. He needs Marco closer, so much closer than they can possibly get against the side of this apartment building, and Marco’s more than happy to chase after him.

Jean unlocks his car, stuffing Marco into the backseat. He climbs in over him and pulls the door shut, cramping them both into the small space. Marco wriggles and adjusts until they’re twisted together in something approaching comfort, their cold lips pressing together insatiably in the dark, chilly air. 

Marco shivers, remembering that he isn’t wearing a hoodie. Jean curses softly and extricates himself enough from Marco that he can lean into the front seat and awkwardly start his car. The heat vents blow out cold air, and they probably will for a while, but it’s something. He leans back into Marco, who had been running his hands appreciatively over Jean’s ass the whole time he’d been fucking with the ignition, and kisses him breathless.

“Sorry it’s cold,” Jean manages against Marco’s lips, biting gently at him as he kisses him. “You want my hoodie?”

“No,” Marco breathes, pulling Jean against him. He reaches down and grabs the blonde’s ass, his fingers skating over the fabric as he squeezes. “Want you.” Jean groans and shifts between Marco’s legs, pressing his arousal against Marco’s with a soft groan. The brunette gasps, then leans up again to kiss Jean sloppily. 

They move together awkwardly, limited by the space, growing more and more impatient with their clothes as their panting moans grow more insistent. Jean continues to thrust his hips against Marco’s, fueled by the brunette’s little gasps and incredible moans. When Jean sits up to unbutton his pants, he smacks his head against the roof of the car and curses colorfully under his breath. Marco giggles, even as he unbuttons his own pants and shoves them down his thighs.

When Jean leans back into Marco, grinding their cocks together, he breathes a hot, needy moan against the brunette’s lips, one that Marco returns with equal eagerness. Their tongues tangle and slide together again, even as their gasp into each other’s mouths, their breaths fogging up the windows around them. Jean spits into his palm, which Marco wrinkles his nose at, but neither of them are complaining too much when Jean’s relatively more slick hand rubs them together and eases the friction on their arousals. 

“Don’t have… glovebox lotion?”

Jean shakes his head and kisses Marco again, quickly and deeply. “You used it all over the summer, remember?”

“Shit,” Marco mumbles, although whether it’s mourning the glovebox lotion or because Jean just dragged his thumb through the precome beading at the tips of their cocks is unclear. He arches under Jean, dragging his fingers through messy blonde hair, his quick breaths begging his friend for more, more, more anything.

Jean lets go of their arousals, and when Marco’s lips part on a disappointed moan, the sound is interrupted by two of Jean’s fingers sliding into the brunette’s mouth. Marco gives surprised sound at first, but then willingly sucks on them, laving his tongue over them and between them. He’s pretty sure he knows where Jean’s going with this. 

“Really should have bought more lotion,” Jean laughs as he pulls his fingers out of Marco’s mouth and leans down to kiss him again. He shifts up onto his knees, giving himself room to work. Marco pushes his pants down further and spreads his thighs a little wider before reaching up and wrapping his arms around Jean’s shoulders. Neither of them are too cold anymore.

Trailing his wet fingers down Marco’s dick, Jean kisses the brunette again, deeply and lovingly. His free hand comes up to trail his fingers lightly over Marco’s freckled cheek. Marco sighs against him, but when Jean’s fingers brush lightly over his entrance, he can’t help but arch his back and moan softly.

“You ever touch yourself here?”

Marco swallows and blinks up at Jean, flushing darkly as he gives a tiny nod. Jean groans quietly and presses the tip of his finger into his friend. Marco gives a stuttering gasp as well, wiggling and arranging himself to give Jean the most room he can. He bites his lip and tries to relax against the feeling of the blonde’s finger moving deeper into him, his breaths quiet and strained.

“You ever th-think of me?” Marco bites his lip harder. Jean continues, his voice a raspy whisper. “While you’re doin’ it?”

“Yeah,” the brunette breathes, gasping and shifting under Jean as he starts thrusting his finger gently. “’Course I did.”

“You should tell me,” Jean says, leaning his forehead against Marco’s. Jean thrusts his finger a little deeper, and little faster, and leans down to try and kiss the words out of his friend. “Should tell me what you did, what you th-thought about.”

“J-Jean,” Marco manages, rolling his hips into the blonde’s light thrusts now. “M-mm…”

“Please, Marco?” Jean trails another slick finger around Marco’s entrance, silently promising a reward for his obedience. 

Marco licks his lips, trying to collect his thoughts. “T-thought… about how it’d feel if you were fuckin’ me…” His breath comes a little faster, meeting Jean’s intense gaze for a moment before squeezing his eyes shut. “Thought about how you’d do it.”

“How would I do it?” Jean’s voice is breathless, quiet, his finger curling up in search of Marco’s sweet spot to encourage him. Marco gives a stuttering gasp and arches his back when Jean finds it and rubs insistently at it.

“M-mm,” Marco hums, his fingers clutching at Jean’s sleeves, fisting in the fabric. “You’d, ah… all k-kinds of ways.”

“What’s your favorite?”

Giving a soft whine, Marco rocks his hips against Jean, his abdomen tensing and twitching whenever his finger finds a nice spot inside him. “I like… when I’m on my back, and you’re thrusting deep and slow and t-telling me… telling me how good I feel, how well I take you, how… ah…”

“K-keep goin’, Marco,” Jean whispers, leaning down to kiss him briefly. He finally pulls his finger back and slides two in together, working the brunette open slowly, cautiously. Marco shivers and arches, kissing Jean messily. “How what?”

“D-don’t make fun of me,” Marco almost pouts. Jean’s heart skips a beat. He nuzzles into Marco’s hair, moving to nibble on his ear. 

“I won’t. I wanna hear. Please?”

Jean rubs his fingers purposely up against that spot, relishing the way Marco moans and bucks his hips. He’s got this beautiful, slick line of precome dripping onto his soft stomach. The sight alone makes Jean a little crazy. Lucky that Marco’s shirt had ridden up at some point. He thrusts his fingers faster, deeper, aiming for his sweet spot more and more.

“You’d t-tell me… how b-beautiful I look, and put your hands all over me, m-mmm…”

Moaning softly into Marco’s ear, Jean rewards the brunette by rubbing his fingers firmly over his prostate. Marco arches up against him, so beautifully, giving this amazing little cry of Jean’s name, and the blonde can’t take much more of this. He fucks Marco on his fingers, curling them past his sweet spot on every thrust, and whispers in his ear, “T-touch yourself, Marco, I wanna watch you come for me.”

Marco shivers and nods, one hand moving eagerly to fist at his dripping arousal. He closes his fingers over himself and starts moving quickly, just right, giving sweet gasps and moans into Jean’s ear as he builds himself up. He rocks back against Jean’s fingers, now slamming into him, and before too long Marco’s spilling over his fingers with a muffled cry. He twitches at the last few strokes over his sweet spot before Jean’s pulling out of him, moving to stroke his own aching arousal, pulling quick and hard until he’s coming onto Marco’s stomach as well, his eyes shuttering closed and his mouth hanging open. Marco blearily drinks in Jean’s loud moans, his stuttering gasps of the brunette’s name.

When Jean’s done, when he’s coming down off his Marco-induced high, he leans down and kisses the brunette sweetly, deeply, his breath still fogging out in pants between kisses.

“I love you, Marco,” Jean mumbles, nuzzling again into Marco’s soft, nice-smelling hair. The brunette smiles, reaching up with his free hand to pull Jean into another kiss, returning the sentiment against his lips.

“I guess we should go back inside,” Marco sighs, trying to stretch his long legs but only succeeding in kicking the door. Jean reaches over into the passenger seat, which has warmed up considerably since starting the car, and finds the Dunkin’ Donuts napkins tossed across the seat. He offers one to Marco, who gratefully wipes off his fingers and makes an attempt at the mess on his stomach. 

“We should just go back to your place.” Marco blinks up at Jean, who flushes slightly. “It’s not far, right?”

Smiling widely, that same beautiful smile that shows off his incredible dimples, Marco reaches up and pinches playfully at Jean’s bony ribs. “That works.”

\--

They barely fit on Marco’s tiny bed, but they make it work, wrapped so close around each other that they’re breathing each other’s air. They kiss and talk quietly until they’re too tired to continue, falling asleep with their foreheads pressed together and their love for each other on their lips.

**Author's Note:**

> look, nothing bad happened! you can trust me!


End file.
